I Thought It Would Be Scarier. . .

I thought it would be scarier. The thought of it has made me nervous for months.

Andrew, my baby, putting on pads and a helmet for practice seemed just a warm up for this grown up sport that I was hoping would never come. Football, and the apparent violence that accompanies it, was something that I couldn't even begin to comprehend my big/ little man playing.

But the funny thing is that on Saturday, for Andrew's first game, it wasn't scary. At all.

I can admit to actually getting a little teary. As I sat waiting for the game to start, another mom brought around a program listing the names of the players and the game date. When I saw my baby Andrew's name on the list, my eyes flooded with tears. I was grateful for the sunglasses blocking my emotional breakdown.

But, that was it. I was fine.

I watched them warm up as a group.

(Andrew is sitting in the middle: number 54.) I watched Andrew get a chance to be the kicker. He was able to take part in the punting and kick offs. He did great!

I watched Andrew play center. (He is snapping the ball in the picture below.)

I watched the team huddle up like big guys, making decisions about their plays.

I saw our name on the back of a jersey, looking more like a grown up guy than a little boy.
Despite all of these things, I was fine. Totally fine. Despite the boys losing on the final play, I was fine.

It wasn't scary. I realized that much scarier things will present themselves in the next few years. This was not one of them.

Three birthdays, Fifteen boys, One party

With my crazy schedule last year, I put off many things: dusting (still working on that), cleaning my closet, getting a new haircut. But let's not forget one very important thing I procrastinated on: giving the boys birthday parties.

Oops.

I mean, I'm a normal mom, right? Busy. Working. Trying to keep it together, but not planning birthday parties? In today's world, that seems to fall right under child abuse. Yet, here I was, in mid- August realizing that I never gave Andrew or Brendan a party, and Evan's birthday was quickly approaching.

My solution to avoiding Child Services for forgetting parties? I did a three- for - one. All boys were able to invite five friends to come over for a mega-birthday party.

And, it worked! It worked well.

We had play-doh and fun hands on activities for Ev and his pals.

We had baseball where all kids played.

We had football.

We had food. And more food.

And a football cake~!

And 15 rowdy, fun-loving, competitive, active, wild boys.


It was a blast. Truly, the day made me consider placing my mommy status on the line again this year. I may just be too busy for parties in March and June. . .

Mom, What's a disco stick?

Driving in the car last week, I was listening to the radio and Lady Gaga was singing her "Disco stick" song. (If you have never heard it, this is the link for you to listen.) Brendan sincerely and inquisitively looked at me and said, "Mom, what's a disco stick?"

Hmmm. . . I stalled desperately trying not to actually state what a disco stick was.

I stated, "Well, Brendan, I think a disco stick is something she just has fun with." Ok, I know this is a totally lame answer, but I was struggling. Pop music has always presented less than stellar ways to embarrass parents, and I was stuck.

So, Brendan asks, "Then Mom, why does she want to ride the disco stick?"

Mentally, the brakes shriek. WHAT?? Yikes. My lame answer was meant to pacify you, not incite more questions. I wasn't thinking about the absolute horrible insinuations in the lyrics.

"Umm.. . Brendan, I don't know. I think she is just weird."

That seemed to stall him. He could understand that maybe she was just slightly off kilter and talked about crazy things. Not necessarily a great strategy, but it worked.

But I realized that this will happen increasingly as they get older. They want to know and understand what is happening in the world around them, and Lady Gaga forced the issue for me a little earlier than I would have liked.

Music helps set my mood, but maybe for now, I'll just leave the radio off.

First Day

Growing up, the first day of school meant waking up when it was still dark to get ready to be the first kids on the bus. It meant chatting briefly with mom, still in her robe, and dad, smelling of aftershave and wearing his suit, over a quick breakfast. But most of all, the first day of school meant taking the annual back-to-school picture in front of our kitchen door.

Why the kitchen door? I don't know. Mom chose that spot sometime during our youth, so every picture I can remember has us standing there in front of the door.

In my home I think I have found my own version of the kitchen door: the steps. We have this great staircase that leads to our upper floor where the kids play, wrestle, and slide down. It makes the best place for a back-to-school picture.

I took a picture first of just the two school aged boys:

Then, I worked all three guys-- (Yes, they are all wearing Brewers' shirts. Totally unplanned. I found that humorous.)

The obligatory silly face picture.

Tuesday was the boys' first day of school. Andrew started fourth grade and he has a teacher whom he completely enjoys. Brendan started third grade and also seems to be having a good time in his class. Evan is still in preschool; I finally made the decision to wait and send him to kindergarten next year. He has been ecstatic with going back to preschool, so I feel good about my decision.

This year proved to be another successful traditional back to school. Only at least 13 more!